the longing

And sometimes, the heart misses everything at once. Every person we’ve ever loved or longed for. Every place we’ve ever called home. And the dull throb of the longing, the missing, the grieving feels a lot like a long winter: the sun hesitates to enter the gloom, the sky forbids to turn blue, the wind has a biting, unforgiving sting. 

And “I miss you” is the clearest thought in a sea of winter’s fog. 

What is broken will never be unbroken again. What is done cannot be undone. And winter lingers. Replaying and reminding us of all that is fixed – all we cannot hope to change. 

We long to return to what was before and that longing seeps through the layers of our soul like winter’s icy chill. And we must wait in the bleak winter. Til spring rescues the sky from the grey and restores life to the places where death has made its home.

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